


Why Not? (Give It a Chance)

by Evening12



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Community: femmefest, Down on her luck Pansy, F/F, Femslash, Mental Health Issues, POV Pansy Parkinson, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-30
Updated: 2019-05-30
Packaged: 2020-03-29 23:33:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19030198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evening12/pseuds/Evening12
Summary: After a night of heavy drinking in an attempt to forget her past, Pansy finds herself on Luna's sofa.





	Why Not? (Give It a Chance)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [NeonTinkerbell](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NeonTinkerbell/gifts).



> All the thanks to V for the quick beta job! Your suggestions made this story much better than it was. To neontinkerbell, this story is one of hurt/comfort, slice of life, and of one person’s world post-war. More than that, it’s also a story of hopeful beginnings.

 

Pansy placed her hand on the rough paint coating the door and pushed. Wooden splinters cut into her palm; shards of black paint crumbled to the floor. The hinges squealed as though they were warning her not to come in, and like always Pansy pushed ahead anyway. 

Conversations swirled in dirty clouds of smoke, and the back wall was covered with every possible hue of amber and clear liquid in glass bottles. Pansy made her way through the sea of warm bodies to order a drink - goblin gin. Her drink of choice. The bar curved into the room, dark and barely lit. The yellow light of the street lamps trickled through the windows. 

The Dirty Twig was a place of debauchery and alcoholism. No one came here with anything wholesome in mind, and Pansy was no exception. Most nights, she caused trouble with her sharp and clever tongue. She must’ve said the wrong thing to the wrong girl on the previous night because she had woken up with a black eye. The swelling was mostly gone, but not the bruising. A touch of healing salve would have cleared it up but it cost a pretty Knut, and alcohol was costly enough. Costly enough that rent sometimes went unpaid for a week or two. 

She sipped her drink, feeling the keen burn on her tongue and in her throat that had made her recoil a year ago. Now it was a feeling she longed for. This place had become familiar. Loud voices, with the occasional soft words whispered in your ear. Witches and wizards who looked older than they were, slumped again the bar. Pint glasses and shot glasses being slung across the bar countertop. People crying in corners and couples in secluded bays, laughing and kissing. Another round of drinks, pink cheeks, boasting and swearing, threats and fights, and the last orders bell. 

Pansy watched the night unfold while drinking one, two, three glasses of goblin gin. She rarely stopped at three glasses. She drank until her eyes struggled to stay open and the bar was being wiped down. 

House elves would have made all this cleaning easier but the bar couldn't afford them. Both Pansy and the bar spent their gold on alcohol. With a stumble in her steps, Pansy pushed open the door. A bleak, thin wind greeted her. By the time she got her bearings, the wind grew stronger and took hold of her hair, made them into lashes that beat her face and blew above her head. Walking home would be unpleasant but with the restrictions on her magic, Apparating was out of the question. Instead of time in Azkaban, she’d been sentenced to three years of her magic use being restricted to when she was in the presence of Ministry witches or wizards. 

Pansy tried to walk down the street, but the wind was strong and her legs weren't cooperating. They were swaying - left and right. The bar still in sight, Pansy’s stomach gave out, and the ground got closer and closer to her face. 

⧫⧫⧫

Her limbs were heavy but she was comfortable. She didn't remember her bed being so comfortable, it had this unruly spring that always poked her back. Cracking her eyes open, Pansy saw a halo of blonde hair surrounded by bright colours. Pansy’s room wasn't this bright either. She mumbled and tried to get up, but was pushed down. Too tired to fight, she succumbed to sleep once again.  

Pansy opened her eyes to a brightly lit room. She was greeted by floor to ceiling windows framed by cerulean blue curtains. Pansy pressed the heel of her hands against her eyes, trying to numb the ache in her skull. 

“Are you planning on laying on my sofa the whole day?” 

Pansy sat up. Printed throw pillows surrounded her. Looking behind her, Pansy saw a familiar person. She’d seen those radish earnings and that blonde hair before. She’d see them at Hogwarts. “Lovegood?” Her throat felt like sandpaper. 

“That’s much better than what you said earlier.” Lovegood was sitting behind a wooden kitchen island. 

Pansy pursed her lips, trying to recall seeing Lovegood before now, let alone having spoken to her. She poked and prodded around her eye, trying to figure out if she was too hungover to feel the pain or if she was healed.  

“You called me Loony this morning.” 

“Ah.” Pansy stretched her legs. It hurt to move. “Sorry about that, Lovegood.” 

“That’s also not my name. I’m Luna, and you’re Pansy.” 

“Right. And why am I here?” 

“I found you. You were passed out on the pavement. I recognized you, and brought you home.” 

“Why?” 

“Why not? If you’d rather next time, I can leave you on the pavement. I also healed your bruise. Unless you have a problem with that too.” Luna levitated two mugs in front of her. “Would you like some tea?” 

“Tea with you? Why?”

“Again, why not? I don’t believe you have any pressing plans. Unless I’m mistaken. And who doesn't like tea?” 

“Tea? With you?” Pansy ran her fingers through her hair. “That’s ridiculous. We’re not fucking friends.” Her steps unsteady, Pansy bumped into the coffee table as she got up. “Find someone else to play friends with and to drink your tea.” Pansy left Luna’s home. The door slammed behind her. 

⧫⧫⧫

Pansy wandered the streets. She walked by three coffee shops, two apothecaries, and a park before stopping in front of the Twig. She needed to keep moving but she couldn't catch her breath. There were times when the world slowly disappeared in front of her. And now was one of those times. It always started with her lungs. Her empty lungs burned, and her heart would hit her chest so hard she thought her ribs would break and her skin would be ripped apart. 

It was early but a few glasses of gin would make everything better. With the daylight streaming into the tinted windows, the place looked depressingly empty. Pansy was the only person there, except for the bartender. Pansy liked it that way. The bartenders rarely asked any questions, though she sometimes got a raised eyebrow, especially when she asked for two glasses of goblin gin at once. 

Pansy eyed the pale liquid and ice cubes. She poked them with her painted nail to hear them jingle in the afternoon silence and watched as they bounced back up. Her heartbeat was already slowing down. The gin turned down the volume of her thoughts, and in that moment, she was both there and not. Somehow it steadied her, and gave her the resolve to go on. 

With each drink, Pansy tried to forget. Seeing Luna had brought forth memories of Hogwarts and of the War. She could still remember all those moments. Moments filled with wrong choices. Wrong choices that had kept her family safe. If it kept her family safe, were those choices wrong?Her words still echoed in her mind. “But he’s here! Potter’s there! Someone grab him!”* 

Pansy was sick of remembering, weary of the shadows and storms being tugged to the surface of her mind. She was tired of reliving the past, and the mistakes. Now, she also needed to forget the drinking. So she drank more. She needed to forget it all. Pansy took a sip from her fourth glass of goblin gin. She couldn't remember when three glasses stopped having an effect. 

Pansy’s stomach heaved in a sickly way, and her head spun in a way that made no sense. It was like the bar had been put on a carousel, slow at first but gaining momentum. She stood up, and staggered towards the door, gripping the booths and tables along the way. One hand of the nearest wall, Pansy walked through the dark streets. Unsure of where she was going, she misjudged her step and tripped. 

⧫⧫⧫

Everything was blurry when Pansy opened her eyes. For a second, she didn't know who or where she was. She didn’t know how she got on a sofa, or into a pale blue shirt. Moment by moment, everything came back to her. Pansy was in Luna’s living room. She was wearing Luna’s shirt. She had left the bar, and arrived at Luna’s. She’d arrived a complete mess, and Luna had taken care of her. Pansy slowly sat up, her eyes getting used to the bright light. Luna’s house was full of light.  

“Good afternoon.” Luna arrived holding two cups of tea and sat on the arm of the sofa. “I’m not taking no for an answer this time.” She held out the yellow mug to Pansy. “Here.” 

The mug warmed Pansy’s hands. “What now?” 

“We wait.” Luna closed her eyes and leaned her head back. “We wait until we know what comes next.” She took a deep breath. 

A soft breeze blew from the open window. The chirps of birds came in bursts, bringing a small smile to Luna’s face. The birds were calling to one another in the way they always did, the songs coming from different trees. 

Pansy licked her lips.  “Thank you.” 

“It’s just tea.” Luna straightened up and looked at Pansy. “Boiled water really.” 

“I meant for my bruise.” Pansy touched her face, recalling the sting of the bruise. “ And for not leaving me on the pavement.” 

“You’re welcome.” Luna smiled. “I would do it again.” 

They sat in silence listening to the birds chirp. The sun shone brightly through the windows and warmed Pansy’s legs. Two pots of teas were drunk before Pansy left. This time she didn't slam the door. 

As Pansy stopped in the bar’s doorway the smoke from the inside billowed out into the cool evening air. It swirled in the momentary light that streamed out until the door swung shut. Pansy paused before grabbing her goblin gin, and an image of holding a cup of tea fluttered across her mind. It had been a while since Pansy had had a connection with someone. 

Pansy spent the following two nights trying to ignore the tightness she felt in her chest when she thought of Luna. She drank in silence, hoping that the answer lay at the bottom of the glass, and then the bottom of the bottle and then the next bottle and the next. And so her nights dragged on. 

⧫⧫⧫

Slowly and reluctantly, Pansy uncovered her face. She blinked, closed her eyes, and blinked again. Streaks of sunlight penetrated the window, blinding her. She was at Luna’s again. She sat up, and rubbed her eyes. She stretched her arms above her head and yawned. 

“You weren't here yesterday or the day before.” Luna was sitting on the far right of the sofa. Her calves were brushing against Pansy’s feet. 

“Why would I be?” 

“Because twice can be the beginning of a tradition. I don’t particularly care for you when you come stumbling loudly into my house but in the afternoon your presence is nice.” 

“Pretty sure I’ll always be stumbling in.” 

“Always is an awfully long time.” Luna pursed her lips. They were bare and chapped. “We all have our demons, Pansy. At night’s when I see them pushing and clawing trying to get out of you. But sometimes it’s easier to face them with someone else.” 

“What would you know about demons?” Pansy pressed her feet down in the area rug. On a different day, she’d say it was tickling her. “Pretty sure things are fucking easy for you.” 

Luna chucked. “So you think because I don’t drink my nights away that I don't have my own demons? That because I smile, I don’t have my own past that’s trying to consume me?” Luna held a throw pillow tightly against her chest “These windows, these floor to ceiling windows aren't just there to be pretty. They let me know that I’m okay.” Luna bit her bottom lip. 

“Luna?”

“My dad was the editor of The Quibbler. He’d always written about these fantastical creatures but the War changed that. He started to run articles in support of Harry, and critiqued the Ministry in every edition. In my 6th year, during the holidays, Death Eaters came to our home. They took me away. For months, I lived in the Malfoys’ dungeons. It was dark. And I could hear it all, the screams and the silence that came afterwards. These–  these windows remind me that I’m safe, and that nobody is coming for me.”   

“I–  I didn't know.” 

“I know.” Luna reached for her wand that was on the coffee table. “I’m lucky I have friends to share these things with.” She levitated a pale pink cup into Pansy’s hands. “It’s ginger. I’d listen to you.” 

Pansy took in Luna’s words as she sipped her tea. There was so much about this woman that she didn't know, but she wanted to. 

Luna pushed her hair behind her ear as the tips threatened to dip into her tea. Pansy found her silence to be somehow comforting. It spoke for itself, peaceful in a way where Pansy could almost feel about, and somehow she knew that no matter what was happening, Luna would be there for her. 

Without more though that that, Pansy started talking about how proud she was to have been given the Inquisitorial Squad badge. She had been recognized as being important, as having value, and that had made her happy. She talked about how when she closed her eyes, she could still hear the whimpers of her classmates while she oversaw detention as a Prefect. Everything came out at once, and Luna never interrupted Pansy. She sat silently and listened. 

⧫⧫⧫

A pattern developed after that day. Pansy would drink, drink a lot, and when she woke up she would find herself on Luna’s sofa. They would have tea, be together in silence, and sometimes words were exchanged. 

This pattern kept until one day Pansy broke it. She knocked on the door. This was the first time that she knocked on Luna’s door. It was nice. 

“This is new,” Luna said as she opened the door. 

“What is?”

“You knocked.” Luna adjusted her straw hat. “I was about to go to my garden. Come” 

“Do I look like a fucking gardener?” 

“Course not. But you've got two hands, so you’ll do.” Luna left Pansy at the door. “There’s some wellies by the back door.” 

The afternoon sun was hidden behind clouds. 

“Here.” Luna handed Pansy a basket. “Hold this.” Luna knelt down, seeming not to care that her magenta overalls would be stained. 

“Neville showed us how to do this. One day a little garden appeared in the Room of Requirement. It was nice to do something. Well, something that wasn't about the War.” 

Luna grasped a tomato and pulled it from the plant by holding the stem with one hand and the fruit with the other. “I’m expecting you to come back tomorrow too. There’s other vegetables to tend to. And I’m expecting you to knock on my door again tomorrow as well.”

“Why?” 

“Why not? Why not take a chance on me, on yourself, on us.” Luna bit into the tomato, and the juice ran down her fingers. 

Pansy smiled. “Why not.” 

**Author's Note:**

> *Rowling, J.K. (2007). Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. London: Bloomsbury
> 
>  
> 
> Check out the rest of the [Femmefest 2019](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Femmefest2019) submissions!


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